


Certain Sensations

by HomunculusTrashParty



Series: Certain [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Masturbation, Robot Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/pseuds/HomunculusTrashParty
Summary: “It’s the monthly DPD poker night. You’re coming with me, right?”Connor considered. Should he go? It would give him a chance to relate to the humans in their way, which could help him keep his job, the closest thing he had to a mission nowadays.… Or, he could stay at Hank’s house and test the remote.(Sequel to "Certain Malfunctions".)





	Certain Sensations

Connor had awoken from stasis the next day, and politely excused himself from Kamski’s company. The man had seen him to the door, a twinkle in his blue eyes that Connor, after searching his language database for a suitable term, could only call _conspiratorial_. The remote was in his pocket, and Kamski had told him it would never run out of power; it pulled from Connor’s own supply. Which might have been at least partially to blame for how drained he had been after his first orgasm.

He paused, reaching the end of Kamski’s driveway and waiting for the autonomous taxi he’d called. It would take a while—Elijah Kamski evidently preferred a secluded life. As well as six identical female android housemates, it turned out.

Connor still wasn’t sure what to make of his experience. He certainly felt relieved, both physically and what humans would call mentally; the tension had caused a great deal of malfunctioning, and he was grateful that it had turned out to be something minor and almost silly, rather than a catastrophic hardware failure. Connor had only recently considered the idea that he could die, the way humans do, without coming back. Apparently this had been ‘worrying’ him, and in the absence of that concern, he felt lighter. 

He got into the taxi and went to program it to take him to the DPD, but then he paused. It was Hank’s day off, and Connor himself was still a probationary employee—no one was really sure what to do with him, legally speaking, yet they did seem to appreciate his help. He could just go to Hank’s house and catch up with the DPD later, or perhaps simply wait for them to ask for his assistance.

It was about 9:15 am when Connor arrived, and he belatedly realized that the lieutenant was most likely still asleep. Connor let himself into the house quietly and glanced around, then heard the slow, heavy shuffle of a familiar friend.

“Hi, Sumo,” Connor whispered, crouching to pet the dog. “Please be quiet, we don’t want to wake your—”

Sumo barked excitedly.

“—owner,” Connor finished, sighing.

He glanced up as he heard colorful grumbling, and smiled fondly. He’d had his issues with Hank when they’d met, but he understood now.

“I think you woke him, Sumo,” Connor cautioned, as he got to his feet in time to see Hank, bleary-eyed, stumbling out of the doorway to his bedroom.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I mean… sorry, Connor,” Hank added sheepishly. “I was wondering where the hell you were. Glad you sent me that message. What did Markus want on a Friday night anyhow?” He pushed silver hair out of his eyes and turned to find something better to wear, Connor assumed, than an A shirt that had seen better days and a pair of boxers with a lewd joke on them.

Connor was confused, then put it together; Kamski had come up with an alibi for him and sent a message to Hank on his behalf. Efficient and considerate, if a bit creepy. “I… He, uh, wanted my input on an Android Bill of Rights. In person.”

“And so what, you just fucked off to DC for the night?” Hank exclaimed from the other room. “Well… I hope you had fun. I know you’re a free man, Connor, I just worry.”

Connor followed Hank into his room, where he was rummaging around looking for matching socks. He promptly gave up when he saw Connor approach and grabbed whatever was nearby. Well, at least they were the same color. “Worry? About me? Hank, I can take care of myself. You know that, right?”

Hank blushed. “I know, it’s just...” He gestured vaguely with one hand, from where he was seated on the edge of his bed, pulling on socks. “There’s so much anti-android violence and I worry some shithead is gonna take out his anger at the world on you. That’s all. But you’re right. You can take care of yourself.” Hank stood, and clapped Connor’s opposite shoulder, putting his arm around him for a brief moment. “Come on, I gotta let the dog out.”

At Hank’s touch, Connor felt a sudden jolt on his shoulder, like the remote had touched it. His head twitched slightly, and when Hank let his hand fall, it was over. Curious.

They took a walk with Sumo, and Connor found it surprisingly easy not to tell the lieutenant about his evening with Elijah Kamski. And if Hank noticed that Connor’s reaction times were faster and his processing speeds were improved, he chose not to comment on it. 

“You know what tonight is, right?” Hank reminded him over lunch later, as he bit enthusiastically into an enormous submarine sandwich at the small diner they’d gone to after dropping Sumo off at home. He’d ordered Connor a coffee so that Connor would feel like he ‘fit in’. Connor, however, had not given the concept any consideration prior to Hank mentioning it. He had been too busy scanning Hank’s sandwich and reacting inwardly. Perhaps it would be called cringing, or—grimacing. Yes. That was it.

Connor picked up a small packet of jam from the little plastic box on the table they were kept in and attempted to calibrate with it in lieu of his coin. He scanned his memory, then paused. That’s odd. Why didn’t he know the answer to Hank’s question? Perhaps the ‘sexual frustration’ had been more profound than he’d realized. “I don’t,” he replied softly, a little apologetic. 

Fortunately, Hank did not seem concerned with this little oversight. Connor was grateful, suddenly, that humans had so many bugs in their code. “It’s the monthly DPD poker night. You’re coming with me, right?”

Connor considered. Should he go? It would give him a chance to relate to the humans in their way, which could help him keep his job, the closest thing he had to a mission nowadays.

…. Or, he could stay at Hank’s house and test the remote.

“Who is going to watch Sumo?” Connor asked evasively.

“He’s coming with me. Chris has a dog, they’re buddies. Chase each other in the yard, sniff each other’s assholes and whatever else it is dogs do with each other. Don’t worry. Are _you_ coming? You’re invited, you know. Well. _I’m_ inviting you,” Hank insisted, and reached across the table to sip the coffee he’d ordered “for” Connor.

“No, thanks. I...” He tried to come up with a suitable excuse. “I think I would like to watch a movie tonight instead.”

Hank’s eyes lit up. “Well, there’s a lot in my living room. They say physical media is dead, but fuck that, I still got DVDs. I don’t blame you. A night in sounds great. But I haven’t seen some of these guys outside of work in I don’t know how long. Plus, you tell me I should go out more.”

Hank winked, and Connor felt that jolt again, this time somewhere near his mouth.

“Yes. Socializing is very important for your health and well-being,” Connor explained.

Hank gave him a look, then a half-smirk.

Connor was, in fact, very… pleased? happy? to see that Hank was willing to socialize once again. He’d noticed that Hank’s health had improved since the revolution—a product of less stress, perhaps, or possibly even Connor’s friendship. Friendship—what a good feeling. 

Hank and Sumo left in the late afternoon, and from Hank’s tales of previous poker nights, Connor judged that he wouldn’t be home until late. Plenty of time to explore… himself.

Connor was curious. What did he like? He’d mentioned other androids to Kamski, but did that mean he was attracted to androids exclusively? Perhaps he could watch ‘movies’, as he’d put it. He knew Hank had a few, and how to find more, the way he had found the first few he’d watched when he was trying to understand why his cooling system could barely keep up with the heat in his chassis even after ending all non-critical processes. It had been as though he’d wandered through a desert—like the frozen zen garden, but dry and dusty, with sand getting into his eyes and mouth and between the plates of his chassis.

But then, Kamski had shown him a way out, given him one, just like the backdoor exit from the zen garden. 

Connor checked that the doors to Hank’s house were locked, and he sat down on the couch, pulling the remote from his pocket. There needed to be a more secure place to store it, one where Hank wouldn’t find it and Sumo couldn’t eat it. Maybe Connor could procure an empty cardboard box from the DPD. He glanced at it in his hand, then put it back in his pocket, removing his CyberLife jacket and tie and hanging them up in the hall closet before settling back down again. He’d take his time, this time. 

Should he watch first, or…?

Why did this sort of thing have to be so complicated?

 _“I’m in the room at the end of the hall, if there’s anything you need… or want.”_ That had been Kamski’s—Elijah’s promise.

_Elijah._

Was Connor attracted to him?

He pulled up the video feed in his database of their interactions the previous night, and replayed them. The quality wasn’t up to his usual ability, likely due to his overall tension and distractedness, but as he watched it from the beginning, he could analyze Elijah’s behavior—not in real time, but well enough. He noted the tug of a smirk on full lips, the intense blue gaze, the sharp angle of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the deep V of his burgundy dress shirt. Connor’s gaze followed the lines of his shirt down his chest, raked over the firm planes of Elijah’s pectorals, visible through the shirt, and felt an increase in temperature at his core. 

_Oh._

Connor, in that moment, was very, very grateful to be an android with a videographic memory. 

He zoomed in, watching Elijah’s throat bob as he spoke, wondering what he’d find if he analyzed him. Cologne? Sweat? Human pheromones? He wouldn’t feel the same intoxication, caused by hormones in the brain, but he could feel _something,_ that was for certain.

Connor advanced the video to the part where he had the remote in his hand, heard his own moans, and felt his temperature rise again. His synthetic lungs began to increase the rate of his breathing; he didn’t need the oxygen, but they helped cool his system during periods of exertion.

Watching the feed, he began to unbutton his white dress shirt, tugging it up from where it was tucked into his jeans. Realizing he’d never taken off his shoes, Connor rose and did so, nudging them into place by the door with one foot. The shirt was removed and laid over the back of the couch, where he was sure it would be covered in dog hair, but he’d deal with that later. He removed his belt also, dropping it on the ground and getting back on the couch, laying across it this time, one knee bent and the opposite foot planted on the ground. His legs were a bit too long for him to lay down fully across the couch, but this would do.

Connor paused the video and imagined Elijah touching him, and mimicked the touch with his own hands. He smoothed down his hair, fingertips rubbing into his scalp, or what passed for one, and noted that he did feel something there—perhaps to alert him to the fact that he’d hit something with his head. Drawing his fingers back, he noted that the sensation didn’t fully stop—there was a ghost feeling, as the sensors on his head activated even before being touched. Connor massaged his scalp again, in circles, then drew his hands down his temples, his cheeks, his jaw. In his preconstruction program, he visualized Elijah kissing him again, and his chin tilted up, lips parting to the imagined touch. He ran one finger across his lips and noted the sensation in both places, the barest of touches, then put it in his mouth.

_Oh, shit._

He licked it experimentally then added a second, closing his lips around them, and felt his tongue and fingers bringing in sensory data. He’d never analyzed himself before, just whatever he had sampled, and wondered suddenly if he could just barely taste Elijah’s skin from where he’d performed digital sex—from where he’d given him a ‘hand job’, jerked him off, the previous night. It had felt so good, the texture of the skin soft and silky, the temperature warm, almost hot, the firmness more than he’d expected for human flesh. Elijah was just slightly larger than average, yet smaller than many of the human men he’d seen in pornography, which was likely due to the tendency of American adult film stars being chosen for their idealized, or in some cases extreme, primary and secondary sex characteristics. Connor liked this ‘cock’, liked feeling and measuring his pulse. He wanted to touch Elijah again, and in that moment, he wanted a cock of his own. What would it feel like?

Connor stroked his fingers with his tongue, and with the other hand continued his exploration. The texture of his skin was soft, pliable, but similar in firmness to a human of his stature. Hank was softer due to age and weight—he remembered from their embrace. But underneath Connor’s skin was sturdy chassis that did not gain or lose weight, or yield under pressure. Human muscle, when developed, could grow tight and hard. Was that what Elijah’s chest would feel like, beneath his fingertips? He was a swimmer in peak physical condition, though based on his choice of such a solitary life Connor doubted he competed with anyone but himself, possibly the Chloes. Still… 

Connor fingered the hollow of his shoulder, what on a human body would be a collarbone, then across to his opposite shoulder, again feeling that sensation, and made his way down his arm, then down his chest. His arms were sensitive but mainly on the outside, and on his hands. He attempted to create a vacuum around his fingers in his mouth and moaned at the sensation, a flurry of error messages popping up. He dismissed them all, then went to undo his jeans, pulling them and the stretchy boxer briefs he wore down to his knees and then off, pulling the remote from his pocket. 

Thinking of Elijah’s smirk, he turned it on and gasped. _Fuck._

Connor’s head tilted back, and he lay there, eyes closed, as random data sequences streamed into his consciousness from the remote. Was this what human touch receptors were like? Did their cells, their bodies take in and use this data? He felt his core temperature continue to increase as the amount he needed to process grew exponentially. He felt sluggish, intoxicated, like he was being stroked all over, from the top of his head, his shoulders, arms, hands, lips, legs, feet. He imagined lying on that couch, or—or even Elijah’s bed, on his back, Elijah holding the remote, programming it with his fingertips, a series of strokes and taps and circles and figure-eights on the touchpad set to cycle, randomize, and repeat. _You’re so good, Connor,_ he would say, and would bend down, capture Connor’s lips in a kiss, and Connor would feel his soft, warm, wet tongue against his own, taste cognac and measure blood alcohol level and health metrics and genetic information. He had been able to feel Elijah’s pulse through his cock, when he’d taken him in hand like that—slow, dull throbbing, yet racing in his chest. Far from the usual human psychological stress, Elijah’s approach to sex was simple and based in mutual pleasure—his and Connor’s own.

Elijah would break the kiss, would take Connor’s fingers into his mouth—here, Connor licked them again, as though he were tasting something delectably sweet, and shivered, groaning around them.

Experimentally, he looked down at the bulge between his thighs, a simulation of a male genital outline that he supposed looked natural in pants. There was no artificial hair, no penis or testicles, just a smooth mound all the way down until it came around and split, separating to form the android equivalent of buttocks, which he needed to run. He cupped the mound in one hand, and was surprised to find out that, unlike before, he _did_ feel something—not much, but a little. He wanted more. He wanted a cock, like Kamski’s, to grasp and jerk and stroke and fuck, that Elijah could lean down and take between his parted, full lips—

“Fuck,” Connor groaned out loud as he removed his fingers, head falling back, the video feed glitching. With the remote still going, he stroked the insides, then the outsides of his thighs, giving his hips an experimental thrust. It was awkward, but he could learn, right?

Connor imagined Elijah sucking his new cock, bold blue eyes staring up at him as he took Connor deep. Connor sent a signal to the remote to turn it up, and felt himself twitching, felt it build and build and build inside him. _Oh..._

He remembered the silky touch of Elijah’s cock, and wondered what it would be like to feel it grinding against the bulge in his chassis, if he had sensors there, or against a cock if he could get one. Or, he could lie there on the bed as Elijah fed him his cock, thrusting into his mouth and down his throat.

 _“Fuck,”_ Connor gasped again, eyes shut, face tight with concentration and desire. His lips were parted, his voice tinged with static, as the video feed glitched on his HUD. He reached down and rubbed his bulge with his fingers, stimulating the sensors on them—maybe right now he had no cock to stroke, but his fingertips tingled, pulling in data, hard chassis, soft synthetic skin, the pale skin tone giving way to gray and white panels as he rubbed himself there. Then he pressed both palms to his hips and rubbed them in circles, moaning softly. He imagined lying on his back on a bed, as fantasy Elijah smirked down at him from where he knelt close by, and spoke. _Do you like my cock, Connor?_

“Yes,” Connor moaned out loud to the dark, empty room. “So good—fuck— _Elijah_ —” The name flew out of his mouth and he grew even hotter all over, the memory of that deep voice saying his name rushing back to him. _Are you close, Connor? Are you going to cum for me, Connor?_

At that, Connor turned the remote up one last time, and replayed the sound clip over and over, hands pressed tightly to his hips as he ground and rubbed them frantically.

 _… cum for me, Connor?_ the voice said. Connor clipped just the part he wanted to hear.

_Cum for me, Connor. Connor… Cum for me, Connor—_

His orgasmic cry was deep in his throat at first, then rose in volume and pitch, his limbs shaking, error messages and heat warnings popping up on his HUD, apps crashing and his synthetic skin disappearing as he lost it, hot, hard, intense. He shouted, his body tensing, his back curving upwards as he felt all the sensory data crashing every process, all power rerouted to the sensors of his fingers, another pained cry of Elijah’s name and then darkness.

Two minutes later, he came back online, and opened his eyes. The room was still dark, still empty; he was naked but for his black dress socks, one leg still on the ground, the other bent. Connor flexed his fingers and toes, feet and hands, moved his arms and legs. He ran a diagnostic. Everything was in working order; he cleared the sensory data from his HUD and sat up. The remote had 100% battery, but he himself was a bit fatigued, though functional. His original alibi of a movie and relaxation sounded optimal.

Connor stood, and went to the kitchen. He rinsed his hands and reactivated his skin and hair, then went to get dressed. Studying the clothes he’d draped on the couch and those he’d kicked to the floor, Connor instead put on only the boxer briefs and folded the rest, hanging the dress shirt inside his jacket in the hall closet. Making his way to Hank’s bedroom in just his underwear and socks, Connor decided to take the lieutenant up on one of his offers, and found an old DPD hoodie and a pair of pajama pants. Connor took a faded t-shirt with a metal band’s album cover on it and pulled it over his head, then stepped into the pajamas and put on the hoodie. He tidied up the contents of Hank’s closet and dresser briefly before going to the living room and sitting down on the couch, blinking at the TV to turn it on.

There were a number of channels for movies, but Connor remembered that Hank had told him about the DVDs. Hank seemed proud of them, so Connor got up and crouched in front of the cabinet under where Hank kept his old-fashioned record player. Connor smirked; the collection was mostly action movies and buddy cop stories, with a few romantic comedies sprinkled in between. He selected two films and sat down.

The first turned out to be an homage to the buddy cop genre, made by British comedy film actors. Connor found it amusing, though he was uncertain that the spires from a church roof could actually cause that much blood to shoot upwards from a decapitated human’s neck. But perhaps that was the point.

He was halfway through the second film when Hank arrived home, as Sumo came in excitedly to greet Connor. He gave the dog a slow and gentle stroke from his head down to the middle of his back.

“Whatcha watching?” Hank asked, sitting down, then saw a blonde woman in a pink skirt suit sitting at a desk in a classroom on the TV. Connor looked over to see Hank’s face turn red. “Don’t tell me you found—” He covered his face with his hands.

“It is called ‘Legally Blonde’, Lieutenant,” Connor replied pleasantly.

“Fuck, I forgot I had that. It’s from ages ago. Listen, I’m not normally into chick flicks, but—”

“Hank. It’s just a movie,” Connor reassured him, trying to hide his smile and failing. He chuckled. He couldn’t help it.

Hank drew back and suddenly looked at Connor with wonder. Connor felt that sensory tingling again, as he waited for Hank to explain the reason for the look he was giving him.

“You know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before, Connor.”

Connor’s eyes widened. A quick check of his database and he was surprised to discover that Hank was right.

“You should do it more often. Maybe not always at my expense, though,” Hank grumbled, but with sincerity in his voice.

Connor beamed; he didn’t know how to reply, but as they watched the movie in comfortable, contented silence, he realized he didn’t need to.


End file.
